


the hash slinging slasher

by meruemsthighs



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Oblivious Lance (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Pre-Relationship, Scheming, lowkey, spongebob au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 06:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11663625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meruemsthighs/pseuds/meruemsthighs
Summary: Lance and Keith work the graveyard shift at Voltron and deal with an unexpected visitor.





	the hash slinging slasher

**Author's Note:**

> the mash flinging pinging the trash singing the hash slinging??? slasher
> 
> enjoy!!

Lance didn’t think his job at Voltron was really that bad until Allura figured she could run it for 24 hours on weekends. He can see why, they’re smack in the middle of their city and their delivery distance range is better than anyone around them. But its when he’s watching Hunk clock out, that he actually considers talking to Allura about this. Or at least Shiro. 

 

“Come on, it’s not that bad. You don’t even have to talk much.” Hunk reasons, smile twisting into a grimace as the words leave his mouth. Lance just shakes his head with dread screaming on his face. “He’s not that big of an asshole.” 

 

“To you, he’s probably great. I’m not going to deal 7 hours with him. I’m already stressed from Irene coming in and harrassing me about pickles, and he’s just going to bitch at me for everything.” Lance folds his arms and leans against the register. He desperately wants to go home like Hunk is, but with their already short staff and his own lack of time except for weekends, he can’t. He’d be grateful to Allura for giving him this specific slice of time, but he can’t, because she’s evil for scheduling him with Keith of all people. She should know better than to put them together in a closed setting for 7 hours. 

 

“Who knows, maybe it won’t get that busy?” Hunk lies. Lance doesn’t get to say anything in response as the door swings open, and Keith comes marching in in all his angsty emo glory. Lance waves goodbye to Hunk and the expectation of having an easy night. 

 

Hunk escapes with a hug to Lance and a high five to Keith. That traitor. Lance can see Keith’s expression souring slightly the second he looks away from Hunk. Lance takes a deep breath in, and attempts to loosen his face up. If he’s good to literally everyone else, he can at least be civil towards Lance. 

 

“Hey Keith, what’s up.” Lance waits while Keith looks around at the empty store. The purple tables gleam, the floor’s swept, and there’s no one here to witness the slight socializing. 

 

“It wasn’t busy today?” Keith asks instead. His hair falls into his eyes when he tips his head forward to reach behind his back and tie his apron. As soon as he’s done, he snaps some gloves on and goes into the kitchen. He begins organizing the buns and wraps, the condiments on the sides, the knives in front of him. Lance can feel the energy rolling off of him and snorts. 

 

“A little. It’ll stay empty except for phone calls.” Lance admits. Keith pauses in arranging the tomatos, and raises his head with eyes wide. “Is this your first overnight shift?” He asks, pointing at his face. 

 

Keith nods, then waits a minute, and shrugs. “I’ll just prepare for that.” He gets back to dicing his tomatos. Lance watches as he slices them evenly, not even bothering to use Hunk’s tomato slicer. It’s faster, somehow, and he piles them in a bowl off to the side. Keith raises a brow at Lance watching, but continues to cut the lettuce, then the peppers, and finally the onions. Lance pulls back when his eyes water, purposely ignoring how Keith’s stay dry and perfectly fine after 3 of them. 

 

“Hey Keith, how come you’re preparing everything like this right now? You never do when you’re working during the day.” He pokes his head up after a moment, when he no longer hears the crisp sound of onions. Keith lifts his head from where he’s mixing condiments in a bowl and scrunches his nose. 

 

“I never have time to do this.” He traces a finger along the edge of his whisk and licks it, then adds a bit of garlic paste. He beats it into a fluff and rests it on the table. Lance reaches his hand out for the whisk too, surprised when Keith readily hands it over. 

 

It’s purpleish with orange streaks, black pepper dotting the creamy sauce. He’s never seen it before. Either Coran had been thinking up new ideas for their store and Lance wasn’t in the loop on it, or Keith was doing illegal things in the back. Lance blinks down at Keith from his stand and Keith raises his brow, jerks his chin at the whisk. 

 

“If you’re going to blaspheme the name of Voltron, lowkey, by making new sauces, I’m going to taste them too. Don’t smirk like that. I’m already a witness.” Lance defends himself as he keeps the whisk for himself, covered in smoky buffalo barbeque sauce. He picks up a chip from his bag under the counter, and dips it. 

 

It’s definitely illegal. The sweet tang of chipotle tangles with the sour of vinegar, garlic hints with a bit of sugar melts in his mouth, complimenting the salt of his chips. Lance makes a real effort to chew slowly, keep his face blank, but Keith catches something in his eyes and his smirk widens into a grin. Lance swallows at the sight of it. 

 

Keith waits a moment with his hand stretched for the whisk back but Lance keeps the whisk away and wipes a side with another chip. “This is like, super illegal, so I’m not going to tell anyone.” Keith snorts. “But, you need to pack me a container of this stuff later.” Lance waves the now clean whisk at Keith, who grabs it immediately.

 

“I don’t mind if you tell Allura.” Keith washes the whisk and pulls a patty out. He’s methodical with his movements, and Lance wonders how different he is from Hunk, who cooks like there’s nothing to it. 

 

“Are you sure about that.” Lance asks, not really asking. Keith shifts his weight onto one leg and hums for a second. Then he nods, and shrugs. 

 

“Yeah. She’s not that scary and I know my sauce is crack.” Keith starts on a pack of fries and raises the temperature a bit more than what Hunk had left it on. Lance feels a little like he knows things he shouldn’t. 

 

“Allura’s not that scary? That’s so weird. I know at least 4 people who could tell you otherwise.” He leans on the window separating them, thinking over the amount of times Allura’s almost made people cry at school, at work, in general living daily life with her as a friend. He’d once seen her tell off someone who was yelling at Pidge for being too slow with their delivery. She swooped in like a hawk, even though Pidge didn’t need the help at all, and tore that customer to shreds. It was the coolest moment of Lance’s life. 

 

Keith finishes the burger he’d been cooking and ladles a healthy amount of sauce over it. He cuts it in half, careful not to squish the bread, and gives it to Lance. “She’s not that scary. Here, before people start coming in.” Lance stares at it for a beat, then at Keith for another. He takes the plate. If Keith’s been replaced by a decent alien, possessed by some benevolent spirit, then it’s none of Lance’s business. But he’s not about to question a good thing. 

 

He bites into the best piece of greasy food he’s ever had, and gives Keith a thumbs up thru the window. 

  
  


*~~~***~~~*

  
  


A stream of customers come in, and don’t let up for two full hours, at least. It’s not too bad, they’re all nice enough to him, and there’s no secret menu bullshit, so Lance is pretty content. He chats with a guy with a really cool tree tattoo on his shoulder, petals and leaves falling onto his forearms, curving around his muscles, while waiting for Keith to finish with the milkshakes. 

 

He peeks through the window and catches Keith balancing a spoon on his nose. The milkshakes sit on a tray next to him, perfect with little crowns of whipped cream on top. The pause in conversation makes Keith stop, and the spoon falls off his face. It lands directly in the sink with a splash. “You’re done?” Keith asks, wiping the specks of water off his area. 

 

“Yeah. How long have you been waiting?” He whispers, careful not to let the customer hear. Keith just passes the milkshakes through the window, not even bothering to answer. 

 

It marks the end of the 11 pm rush, and Lance sits up on his seat with his textbook under the register out of the way of cameras and customers. He stares at a structure of the ear, and touches the outer edge for a second, mulling over the name of it in his head. He traces his way down and starts when a wet leaf hits his neck. 

 

“Are you actually watching dramas at work?” Keith asks from his spot. He leans on his folded arms with a bit of a scowl. Lance is halfway sure that that’s just his default look. 

 

“No. I’m reading. I have a quiz coming up and there’s nothing better to do.” Lance finishes, swinging back and forth on his seat. “Say, why do you think Allura’s not that scary? Not to us, but in general you think she isn’t.” He asks, and Keith brushes his hair behind his ear.  _ Helix,  _ his mind supplies, and he takes his eyes off how weighted Keith’s hair is, the thickness of it. There’s no tangles and be briefly wonders if Keith brushes it a lot.

 

“She’s not scary, scary. She can be strict, but she’s never bad.” Keith presses his lips together and lets go with a huff. “I don’t know, I know scarier people. Have you ever seen Shiro when he’s mad?” Keith fiddles with his gloves and rolls his eyes. 

 

Lance shakes his head, because really, that’s something he can’t even imagine. Shiro getting mad sounds as impossible as Pidge somehow growing taller than him. It’s just not something that can happen. Keith leans in as much as possible, conspiratorily. 

 

“One time, I took his stuff and mine to the laundromat and one of my red shirts got mixed in with his white shirts. He was tie-die pink for a week, and so mad, I could have fried a burger on his face.” Keith snickers as he says this, nose scrunching. 

 

“That’s not that scary though. Do you actually know some scary stories? Doesn’t have to be Allura or Shiro related.” Lance asks, waving his pen at him. Behind him, the customers filter out of the store and faint music replaces their conversations. 

 

Keith hops up and glances behind Lance, then shucks his gloves off into a bin. He opens the door and sits on the railing next to Lance. “So,” he says, unwrapping his apron, “I used to have a roommate that turned out to be a ghost.” He balls up his apron and leans back on the railing, legs in the air, one hand holding himself steady and tosses it onto a chair in the corner of the kitchen. Lance pushes a leg down out of habit. 

 

“What do you mean a ghost? Did the ghost pay rent, because that’s not a problem then.” Lance says, crossing his arms. 

 

“I mean a ghost. It would write on my mirrors when I took showers, stuff like ‘Close The Door When You’re In Here’. And then, it would pull out the heater wire when the room got really hot and I didn’t want to get up to close it.” Keith says, completely 100% serious. Bona fide, organic, pesticide free, serious. 

 

“I bet it was the spirit of someone’s aunt. What did you do?” He says, imagining Keith just sighing and letting it be. “Because that’s still not scary. Weird, maybe.” Lance drags out the maybe just enough that Keith narrows his eyes.

 

“I locked the bathroom door when I was in there and turned the heater off myself more? What else would I do, it’s not like the ghost was wrong.” Keith says, a little defensive. As if its completely rational to live with a ghost undisturbed, and even take it’s advice on household manners. “Alright, so you have better stories?” 

  
  


“Yeah. Did you hear what happened to this one guy who worked here when the Galra owned this building?” He asks, pointing at Keith, palm up. He brings it up to his chin, and leans back. “I don’t know if Coran said it was ok to tell you, only because you have the same job he did. But I guess if Hunk knows, then…” He tapers off, and Keith lightly kicks his thigh impatiently.

 

“Spill.” He says, eyes narrowing further, almond shaped and intense. “What about my job?” 

 

Lance fake gasps. “You mean you don’t know? Allura’s dad came down on them like a vengeful justice angel for harmful working practices and honestly, it’s how we got this place so fast to begin with.” He’s not lying about this part, at least. 

 

“Yeah. Everyone knows that. But what about mine, specifically?” 

 

Lance clears his throat, and starts. “So you remember Allura being super careful about hours and restrictions in the beginning? It’s because the last cook when the Galra had it worked 100 hours a week. They say that his sweat from working all that time is still embedded in the floorboards.” He says, dramatic and whispering. This, at least, he’s not exaggerating. 

 

“That’s so gross.” Keith says, rolling his eyes. 

 

“Dude, you leave the bathroom door wide open when you’re in there. So? Who’s grosser? Anyways, one day, when he was cutting the patties, it happened.” Lance leans back, pauses silently. Its here when his little siblings lose their shit, and Keith’s no different.

 

“What? What did he do? Did he cut himself and get blood into the food, because to be honest, that’s way grosser than sweat in floorboards.” Keith pushes Lance’s shoulder, and Lance bites his lip to stop smiling and keep the creep vibe alive.

 

“It’d be like the Galra to let that happen too. No. He actually,” Lance pauses again, “cut off his own arm by mistake!” Keith’s eyes widen, and his mouth drops open. “So he bleeds out, because he’s the only one working there at the time, and then, when he finally leaves, he gets hit by a bus. And then, when the Galra finally get around to throwing his funeral, they fire him!” Lance gasps along with Keith, dying inside. 

 

“No way.” Keith whispers. Lance nods solemnly.

 

“And you haven’t heard the worst. I heard, that on Thursday nights,  _ he comes back _ . He replaced his arm with a grisly spatula, and comes back, to wreak vengeance.” He leans in closer to Keith. 

 

“Tonight’s Thursday, though.” Keith says, glancing at his watch.

 

“Then he’ll be coming.” Lance glances around at the store, empty save for their voices and the steady faint crooning from the speakers in the ceilings. “There’s three signals for his approach. One, the phone will ring, and there will be no body there. Two, he’ll arrive on the bus that ran him over. And three, he’ll open the door with his grisly spatula hand.” He says, eyes furtive.

 

Keith leans back on the railing, hand on his mouth, staring out the glass doors. “No way. What the fuck.” He whispers. Lance gives a good few seconds before exploding, laughing so hard he can’t see Keith swing his legs off the railing. 

 

“You were just messing with me, I knew it, who has just a cook working a full night shift? That doesn’t even make sense.” He pulls Lance upright by the collar of his shirt and stomps back into the kitchen. 

 

“You believed it, though! It’s not all wrong, the last guy who worked here did actually cut himself and get blood into the food, and he did actually get run over by a bus when he was leaving. He didn’t die, though. Just a few broken bones. And a lawsuit.” Lance recovers and wipes his tears on his shirt. 

 

Keith rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone, ignoring Lance with burning cheeks. 

  
  


*~~~***~~~*

  
  


Weirdly, Voltron stays quiet the rest of the night. Lance isn’t complaining, and he’s not about to jinx it by saying it out loud, but it’s weird for them to only serve around twenty people in three hours. Even their phone’s been silent. Aside from creepy calls that he would be sure are prank calls if it weren’t for the disturbing frequency, it’s been deathly quiet. Only solution would be if the entire city decided to fix their sleep schedules for once.

 

In this weird liminal time, where the store’s empty and silent, when fog hangs at the glass doors, Lance learns a few things about Keith. He used to think he knew Keith, mostly by association of them both being employed at Voltron, but you don’t know someone until you see them in the middle of the night. 

 

Lance knows him now. Keith digs out cleaning supplies out of a closet Lance didn’t even know existed, and starts sanitizing the tables down until he can see his face in them. He takes a mop out and runs over the entire property, and then starts dusting the walls, too. Lance very pointedly does not get involved outside of holding a garbage bag open for him. 

 

“So, why are you suddenly running all over the place like the health inspector’s coming?” Lance asks while Keith forages through the cleaning closet. Keith turns back to glare at him and pushes the bandana he tied around his nose away. Lance isn’t a dirty person, but cleanings too intense if you need to tie something around your nose to keep yourself safe from whatever toxins. 

 

“We never have time to do this during the day. I can’t believe this place could even be clean, so while I’m here, I’m going to do it.” Keith goes back to hunting for supplies, and Lance kind of feels bad just watching, so he pulls his shirt over his nose and goes over to shine a flashlight on top of Keith’s shoulder. 

 

“You’re in the kitchen most of the time, though. You’ll never see the results of your cleaning right now.” Lance doesn’t mean it the way it came out, but Keith doesn’t seem to mind.

 

He shrugs, and moves some sprays out of the way. “I’m looking at the results of my cleaning right now, though.” His hand lands on a small tin box, and next to it, some hand towels. He grabs them and climbs his way out of the closet. Once he’s out, he unties the fabric and ties his hair up. A strand hangs out, that he quickly pushes back. Lance looks down to the box of wax he’d pulled out and sighs.

 

“Are you actually going to wax the floors? Because this is still a 24 hour store, it’s not like no one’s going to step in.” Lance says, taking the box from Keith and opening it.

 

“I’m doing the tables. You can help me, if you’re so bored.” Keith takes the wax back and sits down at one of the closer tables, and immediately digs in. Lance stands for a minute, shamelessly watching Keith scrub at the table, arms flexing, hair dancing around his neck. 

 

Lance picks up a hand towel and spreads some wax around the table, focusing more on where the wax goes, careful not to get it on his clothes, than Keith’s shookness.

  
  


The phone ringing interrupts their massive cleaning session. It jerks Lance right out of it, and he runs over from table 5 to pick it up. It’s been a good hour at least since the last customer, and the length of time he’s spent sitting was starting to get to him.

 

“Hello, this is Lance. How can I help you?” He says, twirling the cord around his index finger. He doesn’t hear anything at the other end, just pure silence, so he waits a bit. A bit turns into a full minute of nothing. He hangs up, goosebumps trailing down his arm. 

 

“What was that?” Keith asks when he sits back down at their table. He scrolls through his phone, distracted. Lance rubs his hands up and down his arms. 

 

“Nothing. Probably just a butt dial.” Lance watches the phone for a little longer, then drops it with a sigh. Keith looks up from his phone and snorts. 

 

“Are you actually cold? If it’s too much for you, I have a jacket you can borrow.” He offers, raising his brows. Lance doesn’t really know what to make of the offer, since it was only just a few hours ago that Keith started offering nice things, so he shrugs. 

 

“I’ll be fine.” He says, pulling his phone out to go through old notes. Keith pauses for a second and then gets back to the table. He finishes quick and helps Keith push the tables to the side. Once the fan’s running and directly facing the tables they’d just did, Keith turns to him expectedly. “What?” Lance asks, after a moment of silence. Keith rolls his eyes and grabs some sanitizing wipes out of the closet. He runs it over his neck and arms while Lance shamelessly observes. 

 

He takes a few when offered and returns to his seat by the register. 

 

The garbage fills up quickly with tissues and empty bottles in the brief time they spend cleaning. Lance brings the bags out to the front, and flips a coin while Keith ties them all together. It’s a big impressive, and if anything, confirms Keith’s past as a hobo with how efficient he is at keeping bags together. He snaps a quick picture and then flips a coin. 

 

“Haha, it’s heads. You have to take the garbage out.” Lance teases, pocketing everything. Keith frowns at the doors, contemplative. “What? Are you scared?” 

 

Keith whips around, brows scrunching together under a thick floof of hair. “No. I’m not scared.” He picks up the bags and marches to the doors. Lance honestly probably wouldn’t blame him if he were a little worried, it is the middle of the night and it’s been unnaturally quiet aside from the weird calls. They had gotten another one since then, just as weird as the first, just as quiet and alarming. It feels like a piece of his fingernail’s chipped off and dug into the bed. Someone’s on the other side of those calls, doing it all on purpose. 

 

Lance hums, and Keith packs his bags over his shoulder. When the doors close behind him with a jingle, Lance watches, keeping him in sight until the fog envelops him. The clock ticks steady behind him, marking the time Keith’s gone from the store. Lance unconsciously compares the length Keith’s gone versus the weird calls, and then starts fiddling with the cash register to distract himself. 

 

It doesn’t work well, and Lance just keeps thinking of the couple of blocks between Voltron and the dumpster while he toggles between screens on the register in front of him. 

 

He breathes easy at Keith appearing from the fog, and kind of doesn’t manage to cover it in time. “What was that?” Keith smirks, like Lance hadn’t mini died in the past 10 minutes. 

 

“Nothing, man.” He sits back against the cushions and runs a hand through his hair. Keith uncrosses his arms and squints at Lance, but Lance can’t say anything, really, everything’s already on his face. 

 

A customer opens the door right behind Keith, and it’s forgotten under papers and receipts. 

  
  
  


*~~~***~~~*

  
  


“You said you had a quiz coming up or something?” Keith grabs two cups and fills them to the brim with ice water. He hands it to Lance wordlessly, and swallows his one in one go. He wraps his apron up and stows it under Lance’s seat as soon as the last customer leaves. 

 

“Yeah, in a couple days. I haven’t really started on it.” Lance swirls the ice around in his cup while Keith bites the corner of his lip. “To be real, I wanted to get some stuff down before tomorrow and thought a night shift would have less people. Two birds, one stone, you know?” He sits back down and shows the diagrams and charts he needs to know.

 

“You’d get through this faster if you write out and draw your own diagrams.” Keith gives Lance his phone back and winces. “I never had time to study like that, but that’s the way it worked best. If I drew out what’s similar to what and the actual path of it, it becomes a lot simpler than staring at a bunch of facts.” Keith waves his hand casually referring to his entire life in school. 

 

“So you knew how to study but never did it anyways? That kind of explains a lot. But, hey, my dude, why are you even helping me out? No offense, but you hardly ever talked to me.” Lance zeros in on Keith stiffening in his seat. Keith blinks and then looks a little to the left of Lance. He takes a sip of his cup and doesn’t really wait long.

 

“It’s not like it was on purpose. The first time we worked together was… an experience. And then after that I got closer to a lot of our crew, but I just didn’t see you around a lot. And I heard asking about stuff in your life would fix that?” Keith pouts, and slowly looks back into Lance’s eyes, instead of some middle ground like his forehead or something. “I actually thought we were a good team.” 

 

“Hunk told you that, didn’t he?” Lance points out.

 

“No. Allura did.” Keith says, smug. He’s not wrong, if Keith had asked anything more in depth about Lance’s current problems, he’d have talked himself into a solid friendship with Keith in no time. But now that Keith had mentioned Allura, the entire shift falls into place. The weirdness of both of them working together, the shocking emptiness of the store, and even a lack of Pidge bothering them all night. 

 

Allura basically locked them in a room until they made nice. “Oh my god.” Lance whispers, with all the raw belief of someone who now Knows Truth, “Voltron is the boneless closet.” 

 

“What? I’ve been out for forever.” Keith crosses his arms, and Lance tucks that information away for later, after he makes Keith see the light. Lance shakes his head slowly, and just stares at Keith. He can see when it dawns on his face, slackening and understood. “It’s the boneless closet.”

 

Lance nods. “I can’t believe I didn’t see her pull this. This is so weird.” He looks around the store as if seeing it for the first time, not as his workplace, but as a closet his friends shoved him and Keith into. He didn’t really think people did that as a thing. Keith purses his lips for a split second and his face burns  _ red _ , like the truth’s a pot of boiling water he’s suddenly exposed to. “You ok?” Lance asks, dropping a hand on his shoulder. 

 

Keith jerks and stares at Lance for a moment. He nods and immediately leaps out of his seat and runs into the kitchen. Lance takes a deep breath and reminds himself not to take it personally. He’d just had a full five hours with Keith trying to be his best friend, Keith wouldn’t take it all back just knowing Allura had staged this.

 

Lance sips his water and tries to roll back every weird moment of the night, trying to connect it back to Allura and her consistent need to have everyone up each other’s ass. He likes a good communication between himself and his coworkers, and no doubt everyone on Voltron’s a friend more than a coworker, but there’s no real need for him to be as lovey with Keith as he is with Pidge or Hunk. He appreciates Keith, for sure, but he can’t ever see himself feeling that same way for him. 

 

Lance hears some hissing from the window and leaves it to Keith, whether it’s him or some rabid raccoon that snuck in. He’d honestly thought he just got off on the wrong foot with Keith and had expected to deal with initial fuckyness when the shift started. Lance remembers Hunk wincing and almost drops the cup of water in his hand at the betrayal. Hunk was in on this conspiracy too. 

 

At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if Allura had sent out a mass PSA text to all their customers to avoid Voltron for tonight and give maximum quality time between the two of them. 

 

The hissing stops and Lance assumes Keith’s done talking on the phone. It would be really wild if Allura had done this for Keith’s benefit, not his. He can somewhat see that. For all he knows, Keith might have seen the first time they worked together as a better experience than Lance did. He thought it was slightly better than a disaster, but Keith might have thought it wasn’t that bad. The subsequent shift changes would look like Lance asking to be changed, not Allura meddling. 

 

He still believes they probably would’ve been fine with practice. 

 

The phone rings just a few minutes later and Lance walks over. “What?” Keith snarls into the phone, no hello or anything. No wonder Keith thought their first day was good. He didn’t have to deal with angry customers, and this is exactly why Lance is their main customer service person aside from Shiro. 

 

Lance peeks into the window and reaches a hand out for the phone when he sees Keith frowning at the phone. ‘There’s no one there’, Keith mouths, and Lance wiggles his fingers for the phone anyways. He takes it and listens for a second, then hangs up when there’s nothing on the other end. 

 

“It was like that when you picked up?” Lance asks, wishing Pidge were here so they could at least figure out who’s calling. Except Pidge’s a traitor too. 

 

“Yeah. We don’t have caller i.d so we’re stuck waiting for another call.” Keith leans on his forearms and takes the phone back. Lance makes a mental note to talk to Allura about their 70s retro theme holding them back from blocking stalkerish creepy calls. Just because Keith fits in perfectly here with his goat butt hair, doesn’t mean they need to stick to it like this. 

 

Lance nods and rips off a piece of paper from his note pad. “Let’s play some tic-tac-toe. Never gets old.” He draws the boxes and circles in the bottom right corner. 

 

“You mean boneless chess? Sure.” Keith takes the pen, worries his tongue between his teeth, and smacks an x in the center. 

  
  


*~~~***~~~*

  
  


The fog outside the doors doesn’t let up, curtaining the joint into clouds. Lance traces a finger over the windows, careful not to streak it so soon after Keith wiped it down, and blows air onto the glass. He turns around just to see, and hums at Keith curled up on the cushions at the register seat. He gets it entirely. Lance has worked hard on making it the most comfortable place possible, it’s no wonder Keith fell asleep.

 

He taps his nails against the windows while wind throws mist back and forth. A signal light blinks ahead of him at the corner, fading and blurred. It’s creeping around dawn, just a few more hours before Shiro comes in to take the shift back. He adds asking Allura about more workers onto his mental list, ever growing. They can’t possibly function with just the 6 of them, 7 if Allura throws on a cap and sits with the rest of them. 

 

Keith takes up an enormous amount of time at the store, enough that Lance hadn’t really thought twice when he saw Keith napping on the side. The jacket he’d draped over Keith falls on the side, and Lance brushes his arm, just harmlessly checking his temperature, then picks the jacket up and hangs it. 

 

The signal light flickers green and a giant orange bus swims into existence outside their store. He only hears the soft press of a bus being lowered, and he quickly jabs his finger into Keith’s side. Keith groans and huddles into Lance, hugging him from the side, and Lance shakes him. 

 

Someone steps off the bus, and Lance can see semi glowing green eyes in the dark. He sucks in ice and shoves his hand into Keith’s hair, instantly waking him up. He squints at Lance, trying to place him, and follows Lance’s gaze to the person outside. 

 

“Thanks for waking me up, I’ll get the stove on.” He grumbles, and fixes his hair. He pauses, and looks across the street again, at the person waiting at the stop sign. “I didn’t know the buses were around this late.” He comments, unbothered. It figures he wouldn’t, he drives his way here and back.

 

“They don’t.” Lance says. Neither of them move, until the shadowed figure across the street starts gliding towards the doors. Their side glints under the street lights and Lance suddenly remembers the calls, the bus, the spatula hand. “Keith, I don’t think that’s a customer.” 

 

“We’ll know when they get here.” Keith glares as the figure steadily makes their way over, purple coat flashing, looking all the while like just by thinking of the story, Lance spun him out of the fog in front of the store. 

 

A spatula taps the glass doors, the sound echoing through the store. Lance doesn’t scream, not really, but no one can hear it over Keith’s undignified shriek. His fingers dig into Lance’s arm and the figure enters into Voltron. “It’s the Hash Slinging Slasher.” Lance whispers into Keith’s ear, “I didn’t know he was real.” 

 

“I knew you made up the story, but you know what Lance, if we die, I just want you to know, I never hated you. I actually sort of liked you.” Keith says, close enough that Lance hears it above the Slasher’s footsteps, getting ever closer to their seats, closer to the light. He’s calmer about it, still disoriented, but not the deep confusion and alarm Lance is very much going through.

 

“Ditto. Keith, I sometimes use your apron to wipe my nose when there’s no tissue around.” He blurts out, not bothering with Keith’s outrage when the Slasher steps into the light.

 

Keith immediately lets go of his arm as someone they recognize from a town over, Arus, smiles down at them in the register seats. Their coat falls in a puddle around them as they hold a spatula. “Hi. Allura sent me for a job application?” They mutter, sheepish. 

 

“Do you have it on you with references? Are you ready for an interview?” Lance says, sitting up, holding a hand out to see for himself the spatula won’t be attached to their hand. They hand it over, along with a folded piece of paper. There’s a note from Allura on it, clearly saying to go in at 4 am for a test run. 

 

“Wait a second. That was you on the phone?” Keith asks, completely awake now, angry enough to become the Hash Slinging Slasher himself. 

 

“Yes. I called, but I didn’t know what to say so I called later and didn’t hear Allura so I thought maybe I got the wrong number.” He looks anywhere other than Keith and Lance herds him to the office just so Keith doesn’t chop him up right there for giving both of them thorough heart attacks. 

 

Keith hovers by the door watching them both sign papers, and leads the way into the kitchen. He scowls, which Lance is beginning to feel like is his normal every day face in general, and lets their new employee, Spark, wash his hands and get a feel for the kitchen. 

 

“So, ready to do an interview? Are you still freaked out?” Lance teases, resting his chin on Keith’s shoulder. Keith scoffs and turns to him, narrowing his eyes. 

 

“Don’t think I was scared there. You woke me up a minute before he came down on us, and I was Ready while you died.” Keith confidently says. Lance hums in fake agreement and Keith’s face pulls tighter. “And you’re the one so eager to interview him.” 

 

Lance nods in actual agreement, but steers Keith over to Spark anyways. “But said you  _ like _ me, so you’re doing it with me.” He stretches out the i and revels in the smack Keith makes facepalming. 

  
  
  
  


Later, when Lance talks to Allura about trapping two employees together because they don’t get along so well, he asks for more graveyard shifts. 

  
  
  


*~~~***~~~*

**Author's Note:**

> all feedback is appreciated!!


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